Today Is The Tomorrow You Worried About Yesterday
by WildeJunkie96
Summary: Claire Bennet died in a grocery store robbery in Odessa, Texas.  Not 24 hrs later, Carlie Smith was backed into a corner in Brooklyn, forced to hide in Gray & Sons timepiece repair shop.  AU.  Set before '6 Months Ago.'  Eventual Sylaire.
1. Chuck Palahniuk

"_If death meant just leaving the stage long enough to change costume and come back as a new character...would you slow down? Or speed up?"_

_Chuck Palahniuk_

* * *

**Odessa, Texas**

The barrel of the gun is pressed to her temple, hard enough to bruise. A hairy arm is wrapped around her neck, holding her in place. The heavy silence is only interrupted when her mother starts screaming, begging–_Give me my daughter back, give her _back_, monster, you monster!_

Claire can feel the panic as it sets in (_I'll never go to college)_, and it drowns out her mother (_I'll never get to be one_), her assailant (_Why is he doing this?_), and the quiet murmurs of the other unfortunate civilians (_Literacy in death, huh) _who happened to have been buying groceries on a Sunday (_Should have stayed home, Claire_).

She's never been one to have interesting things happen to her. She was at the fringe of popularity, always. _Sure, she can come, she's Jackie's friend. _That type of girl, not quite in, not quite out, who straddles the fence between 'Who is she?' and 'Of course I know her!'. Claire had hated it, yeah, but high school was supposed to be a new opportunity, even if the first couple months had been the same she still held hope. Now she'd never get to see if it would get better with time. She'd never get to graduate freshman year.

She'd heard life called cruel before, when people talked about starving children in Africa and crime rates in big cities, but it had never really clicked for her.

"Give me the money or the girl dies!"

The sound of that fact (_cruelty, cruelty_) snapping into place is deafening, the crack of a gunshot.

Her life doesn't quite flash before her eyes, her thoughts aren't coherent enough for that–it's really more like a parade of remembered sensations. The taste of her mom's homemade chocolate chips cookies, the sting of a scraped knee, the feel of real laughter–it's poetic, in a way.

But there is one image, sneaking up; a girl in a Union Wells cheerleading outfit, always running, always hurting, always drowning in her own blood without a scratch on her. The girl looks like Claire, except Claire has never had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

_Until now, at least. _It pushes her onto her knees, her stomach.

She blacks out.

* * *

When Claire comes to, she discovers that not only is the grass not greener on the other, _other_ side, but also that there doesn't happen to be any (grass, that is). It's bleary, uncomfortable, and smells like out-of-date dairy products. Her mind's working fast, trying to keep up with the turns of events. She can't believe herself to be dead, as she's always imagined the afterlife to be a bit more extremist than this; eternal agony, trying to skip around perpetual flames v. lazing on featherbeds in paradise. And even if there is no real _meaning _to life, and its all a giant cosmic accident, then the end would be _the end_, no more earthly sensations (_like the feeling of taking a nap on gravel_). She thinks back on how she got there, and a flash of unbelievable agony highlights the left side of her head.

Claire winces and brings a hand up to her temple, as if touching it might make pain stop. All she feels is a half-sticky, half-flaking mixture of something she really doesn't want to think of as blood. The bullet wound is gone, the only reminder a dull pounding behind her eyes. She's healthy but off-balance.

She is most definitely not fond of death, or almost death, whatever the case may be.


	2. Charles Darwin

"_It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change."_

_Charles Darwin_

_

* * *

_

**Odessa, Texas**

Claire can't remember much of the run home. She knows she took lots of unnecessary detours and back alleys, cutting through parts of town she would have normally avoided, making sure she wasn't seen. This isn't like her, but she thinks she might have to start getting comfortable with the overly paranoid Claire Bennet. Can she even go by that name anymore? Weren't there witnesses to her death? _Of course there were. _

Claire is trying really hard not to panic, but it's not going so well. She has to talk to her mom and dad. They'll know what to do.

_They have to know what to do._

She can't deal with this on her own.

* * *

She enters through the back door and the house is eerily silent. She feels like hitting herself for not thinking of it sooner, but they're probably at the police station or something, being interrogated about her killer and the robbery.

_Fine, then_. She'll wait. Get something to eat, a change of clothes, pack up necessities (_just in case_), but first, Claire is going to shower, bathe, drown herself. Whatever it takes to get rid of the blood.

* * *

The blood's gone now, though she still feels a shadow of it _lingering_, and it makes her want to tear her skin off. She settles for gripping her mug of hot cocoa so tightly it shatters and fragments cut deep into her hands. Too-hot liquid in open wounds is unbelievably painful. Claire does not react.

Her skins spits out the small pieces that were embedded in her palms and knits itself back together.

She cleans up the mess and fixes herself another cup.

* * *

Her family is home several hours later. She's so jumpy she almost screams at the sound of the key turning in the lock. They enter through the front door, nothing to hide, and she almost runs then, so she won't ruin that for them. But Claire's not that brave, and she needs help.

Sandra Bennet is sobbing, and the first thing Claire hears her say is, "Why did I have to force family bonding time on you all? Why couldn't I have just gone alone?" Noah Bennet is trying to comfort her, as best he can, though every once in a while his voice cracks. Lyle is so quiet she's not even sure he's there.

Her dad leads her mom up to her room, and Lyle heads to his. The house is as silent as when she first arrived, except now sometimes a scream breaks loose from her parents room.

It seems wrong to interrupt their grieving.

* * *

She is jerked awake at the sound of footsteps on the staircase. Claire had fallen asleep at the table after finishing her hot cocoa, as all her limbs felt as if they were moving through water, and she had given up on transferring to somewhere more comfortable.

It was her dad who was slowly making his way down the stairs, looking oddly as if he were tip-toeing. It made her almost smile.

* * *

He is shocked beyond belief, and tears are at the corners of his eyes. Noah can't believe it, his daughter is alive, healthy, _safe_!

"Dad, I need help."

It brings him crashing down, and he can't help but ask– "How did you survive?" He dreads the answer because he should have seen it sooner.

"I think I've figured it out," she says, and grabs a knife out of the cutlery drawer. It takes more self-control then he believed existed to keep himself from staying her hand as she carves out a long, bloody line down her arm. It only takes seconds to heal, good as new. The blood is the only thing left.

He stares at her, and her eyes are pleading with him to help her out of this mess.

"Well, you're going to need to relocate, Claire-bear."

He supposes this means he's not a Company Man anymore.

* * *

"Why can't you all come with me?"

"Too suspicious. Now, I've rented you an apartment, small but in relatively good shape. The address is in the bag. Anybody with the power to evict you has been payed enough that they won't ask questions, and if anyone else does, you tell them your name is Carlie Smith, your dad is a car salesman named David, your mom is a waitress named Sarah, and you're an only child. Your parents work overtime to pay the bills, and all the paperwork to prove your existence, that of your parents, and anything else you might need is also in the bag. If you are ever in a situation where your 'parents' need to be present, call me. I know a couple who lives close by that has agreed to step in if the time comes. I've given you enough money to last you a while–the apartment is already furnished, don't worry about that–, though you should get yourself a job as soon as you can. You'll be starting at a public school in New York within a couple days. If anything goes wrong, call me immediately."

"Yes, dad,"

* * *

By sunrise, she has a new identity, dark brown hair, a supposedly untraceable cell phone, and a boarding pass for a nonstop flight to New York City. Big crowds are easier to get lost in.

"If you get even the slightest hint that someone is following you, run."

* * *

**Chapter has been slightly edited, as the author found that it would definitely mess with future plot lines if that extra conversation toward the end wasn't added in.**


	3. James Baskett

"_You can't run away from trouble. There ain't no place that far."_

_James Baskett_

* * *

**Brooklyn, New York**

It figured that she wouldn't be able to lay low long, what with her recent luck. She'd only been in New York a couple hours, and naturally she'd gotten lost. Very, very lost. Which made her an incredibly easy target for Company agents who had been notified of their comrades' daughters' death and then inexplicably saw her alive and well on several of the traffic/security cameras they had been told to watch for sightings of an electro-fire controller with possible dastardly intentions. Claire doesn't know any of that, but she does know several other things.

She is being followed, and if she is caught, she will be killed–or worse.

Claire will not allow herself to be caught.

* * *

She takes the subway, hoping that will discourage them. There's only so much you can do to capture someone in such a crowded place, though one of the tips her dad gave her was never to rely too heavily on outside interference in such a big city; things like a young girl getting harassed by a group of middle-aged men are shrugged into the 'somebody else's problem' category. Claire gets off somewhere random, and goes with a strategy somewhere along the lines of 'If I don't know where I am, maybe they don't either.' Which is stupid, because all that comes of _that_ idea is her being even more lost in an unfamiliar place.

* * *

It's definitely a 'less nice' part of Brooklyn she's finding herself in now. The tall, brick buildings look as if they've seen better days, and graffiti is becoming more and more common. Every dark alley she passes by makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight, but she's never really liked the dark anyway, so she brushes off the feeling.

She may be irredeemably lost, but she knocked several of them off her tail on the subway. The five agents have dwindled down to three. It's a good sign, and she's learning quickly how to put in practice the hastily explained tips from her dad on how to blend in, stay below the radar, and lose anyone who suspects she's 'special' as quickly as possible.

Claire darts around corners as speedily as they make themselves available, and if there is a crowd, she is in the middle of it. The basics of hiding.

Even after she is nearly positive she has lost them, she keeps running.

* * *

Claire doesn't know how long she continues doing this, but gradually she starts to slow down. By the time she has relaxed into walking, the scenery has changed into a nicer area of Brooklyn. She doesn't know where she is, hasn't been able to find the apartment her dad rented for her, and the landscape is being cast into shadow much faster than she'd prefer.

Claire tries to shake those thoughts from her head as best she can, looking over her shoulder as discreetly as possible to make sure she is as alone as she thinks.

She isn't.

* * *

One last agent is limping along behind her. A little younger than her dad, maybe, and in better shape, but he shouldn't have been able to catch her. She had been so _careful._

Her head whips around, facing forward, and she's about a nanosecond from dashing off again when she sees a flier touch down at the other end of the road. _One of us, one of them._ Company policy, another thing her dad had been explaining last night, and it had slipped her mind. At least five agents had been following her, so at least two specials. That's why they had been able to keep up.

A swift scan of the street shows it's mostly apartment complexes, the only exception being a shop with a black clock face design on its window. The place looks cluttered enough to get lost in and the sign on the door says 'Open.'

She grabs for the opportunity without hesitation and darts across the street without looking both ways, something her mom would frown at, indestructible or no.

Claire gets a quick glimpse of the sign as she's pulling open the door.

The hands on the clock are at seven minutes to midnight, and below them, fading letters proclaim 'Gray & Sons.'

* * *

**Also slightly edited, nothing drastic, just smoothing over a couple edges before I continue.**


	4. Flora Whittemore

"_The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live."_

_Flora Whittemore_

_

* * *

_

**Brooklyn, New York**

The hour is late and the sky outside his shop is darkening rapidly, but he does not notice. Gabriel has been working for hours on end, trying to get the pieces to fit, to work–_and he almost has it_.

Nearly seven years spent on an impossible watch; standard body, but the parts–German, circa 1917. Admittedly, much of the time had been devoted to acquiring the pieces, though that hardly took away from the fact that it _shouldn't be this difficult_. Even the most grueling of his past projects had only taken him a few months, at most. The question that had long plagued him, '_What am I missing?' _finally had an answer.

It's so obvious, it had been there _all along, _why hadn't he _seen _it? All he has to do is–

The bell connected to the front door rings, signaling a customers' entrance, and then–

_CRASH!_ The door to his office swing sharply open, and then another _CRASH! _as it closes.

The bell connected to the front door rings a second time.

* * *

Claire has miscalculated. Not only is the shop unoccupied, it also happens to be small and tidy, not the wonderland of hiding places it had seemed from the outside. The only place to run to is a door at the back, where she assumes the owner is residing. Claire hopes she's right, because the Company agents are at her heels.

She continues running, toward the back, carefully dodging glass cases full of new–or possibly just well taken care of, she can't tell the difference–watches that gleam in the well-lit room. She doesn't bother going around the checkout desk at the back of the store, instead doing a weird sort of jump where she plants her hand on surface of it and swing her legs over to the other side. It reminds her of how Lyle would do the same thing when he laid down on the couch to watch TV, and how it had always annoyed her mom to no end. She pushes back the painful twinge the memory brings and continues on her flight to safety. The door is only inches from her fingertips and the agents have slowed down, are lazily following behind. She wonders at this for a second, and then realizes they did it so as not to draw unnecessary attention the themselves in a place that might have security cameras. They're halfway through the store, pausing to look at some of the more interesting timepieces. Dawdling. They know she's trapped, and they know she knows she's trapped, but she still rushes into the back room and slams the door behind her, locking it and putting her full weight against it, in hopes of stalling them. Claire is breathing heavily, and she is exhausted from all the running and hiding she has had to do that day. She can't stop now, though, and her eyes are scanning for a way out before she's consciously aware of it.

The back room of Gray & Sons exudes the feel of an office on the bigger side trying to disguise itself as small. The walls are painted dark brown, the furniture is sparse but awkwardly placed, and the lighting is dim. There is a work desk toward the back, centered in a way that shows it is the focal point, and there is a man sitting there, wearing multi-lense glasses and a prominent frown.

He is glaring at her in a way that makes Claire think he would sooner turn her over to her pursuers than save her from them.

* * *

There is no time to make up a believable lie. The agents can only play 'clueless customer' for so long before they come knocking. Voice of caution in her head sounds very much like her dad as it recites a _suggestion _(command) he'd given her before dropping her off at the airport. _Honesty is the worst policy, Claire-bear. Only tell someone anything that remotely resembles the truth if they already know enough to be insulted otherwise, or if there is no other way out of a situation. If either of these things come to pass, call me immediately._

It's a really bad idea, especially because he doesn't even look that trustworthy, but she goes through with it anyway. Deep breath. In. Out.

"Look, I'm sorry for whatever it is I've done to piss you off in the last five seconds, but as of now I am seconds away from being kidnapped by hostile and very creative coworkers of my dad and frankly I have no wish _whatsoever _to find out what they do to people who have neglected their duty to be very much dead when they are supposed to be. So. If you could kindly direct me to an exit that does not happen to be the front door, that would be fantastic." She spits it out so fast it sounds like the longest word ever, but he seems to have understood at least some parts of it, as he has a half bemused/half interested look on his face. "And if you could push back your shock for the time being, that would also be appreciated. What with the bad guys being _right on the other side of this door._"

He snaps into coherency so quickly that even _Claire _is impressed, and she's been in overdrive all day. "Leave through there," he gestures toward a door that looks more like it would lead into a coat closet than her salvation, but she shrugs that thought off. Then, as if hearing her thoughts, "it goes out to the alley."

She grins at him, the first time anything has looked remotely positive all day. "Thank you, a million times over. I am completely in your debt." She turns to leave, hand on the doorknob. Pauses. Faces him again. "Hey, what's your name? A girl has got to keep track of her knights in shining armor, after all."

One side of his mouth quirks up, a funny little half-smile. "Gabriel. Gabriel Gray. And yours?"

"Claire Bennet. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

* * *

He can feel it. The change he has waited for, for so long. It is coming.

This is why he helps the girl. With her comes the promise of doing things that _mean _something, even if he doesn't know what they are yet.

It is why he tells the two men who ask about her that, _no, he has not seen their niece. They must have been mistaken in seeing her come into his shop._

Gabriel is a surprisingly good liar.

* * *

It turns out her apartment is only a couple streets over from Gabriels' shop. She can't help but notice how odd that is. Another thought that gets pushed back.

The place is small, for sure. Two bedrooms (to avoid suspicion, she guesses), one bath, all with as little furniture as possible. The paint is peeling, the wood flooring is faded and creaky. There's a miniscule living room that connects to an even smaller kitchen, and that's it. It's weird for her not to be in a house that's all windows and open spaces, but she'll adapt.

Claire throws the large duffel that had been slung over her shoulder all day onto the threadbare couch, and its an amazing weight off her shoulders. Trudges to the smaller bedroom and collapses onto the mattress, not even noticing the lack of blankets, pillows, things she would have called necessities as of yesterday.

It has been a long day.

She is asleep within minutes.

* * *

He looks up the name Claire Bennet on his prehistoric desktop computer when he gets back to his apartment. The first hit is an article titled 'TRAGEDY STRIKES ODESSA, GIRL DIES IN ROBBERY.' There is even a picture included.

And isn't that _interesting._

_

* * *

_

Claire has strange dreams of names, spoken and unspoken. Fake, real. Carlie, Claire. Stupid mistakes, could've avoided. Should've.

There are clocks that _tick-tock _to the tune of wasting time, at the edges of consciousness.

She wakes in a cold sweat, confused and frightened.

* * *

**Sorry it took so long. I've actually had most of this written for several days now and just haven't had the time to edit it. Surprisingly, the easiest part of this chapter to write was Gabriels' first section. Weird.**

** Also, Hip-Hip-Hurrah for my longest chapter yet (Which isn't saying much, but still). My ego has grown to the size of–well, something really big, as I've received nothing other than encouraging reviews from the people who bother=) Stop it. Now. Flame me or something. Constructive criticism would also be fantastic.**

** I was joking about the not-reviewing thing. I live for feedback, so continue with that. If you don't, you will kill me. And then this story will never be finished (unless some stupid person steals the idea after I die and then decides to write the rest out for me. At which point I will come back from the dead so that I can sue this unnamed person properly), and you will be stuck with a never ending cliffhanger. So ha.**

** Review!**


	5. John Gay

"_We only part to meet again."_

_John Gay_

_

* * *

_

**Brooklyn, New York**

The screen on her phone is lit up and a text message awaits.

_Sightings of Claire Bennet were reported from various locations around the world at times that coincided with the first reported in New York. Several hours after they stopped streaming in, an illusionist was brought into Primatech who confessed to having made enemies with the girl and, being overcome with anger at the mention of her death, decided to get revenge on Miss Bennet's family. She was taken care of immediately, and the conclusion of the mystery was enough to satisfy anyone who might have considered asking questions._

_You're safe for now, Claire. Don't let this happen again._

It leaves her feeling queasy, knowing that an unnamed and forgotten about someone is paying for her freedom–but guilt doesn't keep her from relaxing just a little when she hears she's safe.

* * *

Ob. Ses. Sion. Three syllables. Familiar word.

Obsession. To obsess; preoccupy or fill the mind of (someone) continually, intrusively, and to a troubling extent.

_Troubling. _Cute–like he cares. It's an old friend with a new face. Pretty girl, young and troubled. Brown hair, blue eyes, that smile that lit up the room with her relief, reflecting bits of sunshine off his newly acquired shining armor. He's gone over meeting her so many times the planes of her face are welded into his memory. Memorized. If he closes his eyes, she's there. Waiting.

And so is he–it's a puzzle, Rubik's Cube in mind's eye, wondering how long it'll take her to wander back into his little shop of timepieces and secrets. Maybe she'll ask for a refund on hers.

_No, no, not making sense, _thinks to himself. _Take a step back, this isn't you._

_

* * *

_

New school, new life. New personality that really doesn't suit her. Trying-to-be-someone Claire Bennet is attempting to fade into please-don't-notice-me Carlie Smith. Never been a brilliant actress, and the urge to stand up in a cafeteria full of unfamiliar faces and scream out all her secrets so that they'll just _ache _for a glimpse of that ever-so-interesting Claire Bennet is nearly overwhelming.

But this is a new world, and the price of popularity is her head on a silver platter. Bright side is, Carlie has to have _some _friends, per daddy's orders, or she sticks out like a psycho/sociopathic timebomb waiting to go off. That girl who sits by herself and glares at the normal people with _lives_ is quickly making friends with the school counselor, whether she wants to or not, and that just means difficulties for Bennets who need to blend in. Higher-ups ask too many questions.

* * *

"Ugh," and _flop,_ down she goes, onto a bed that could be full of rocks or feathers, for all the sensory perception she's working with.

A long day, to put it lightly. Classes were hard, the only people who would talk to her happened to be the plainest Jane's this side of the 19th century, and, to top it all off, being a pretty-wallflower-new girl somehow spells out 'trouble' more clearly to Miss Queenie than the girl who actually wanted to steal her throne ever could have, resulting in a more intimate relationship with bleu cheese dressing than she'd ever cared to consider beforehand.

The wonders of life, the cliches of high school, whatever you feel like labeling it–Claire is going for a walk to find herself a very large cup of coffee and a job, hoping to whoever might be listening that hellish first days only happen once per circle in the Underworld.

* * *

Hair pulled back in a ponytail, jacketless, coffee cup in hand, and her bad day is melting away into the distance. The cool air of mid-fall bites at her cheeks and she feels awake for the first time since she got here–well, disregarding the first night, and that was so beyond awake that it was absolutely insane. Walking down the streets dotted with houses that have their own sort of charm to them, Claire thinks she might be able to survive the transition into Carlie, girl who floats around at the edge of group pictures and keeps to herself until that's the only company she's keeping, wherein she feels like she can do anything. Carlie, innocent of the ways of the world with Ma and Pa there to protect her–

But Claire is lost again and Carlie fades out of the picture, because Carlie always knows where she's going with her parents to guide her, and Claire's are hundreds of miles away. Innocence is useless when the dark alleys are looming in ways they weren't when Claire saw the world through a strangers' eyes, so she drops it even though the thought of no responsibility is enticing.

Self-pity is useless, too, so she moves on to things that'll get her out of this situation as quickly and cleanly as possible. Even Invincible Girls don't like the stains blood leaves on a new shirt. Turn around, retrace your steps and–

_Ha! Isn't this funny?_ Hysterical. Look-e here, you're not lost, Invincible Girl. Isn't that clean-cut little store _ever _so familiar? Gray & Sons, with hands waiting at seven minutes to midnight. Well, if Chance is going to such trouble to set up a second meeting, might as well keep the appointment.

* * *

_Keep ahold of the basics, Claire, _she thinks to herself. _Breath in. Out. Left foot, right foot._

_Ding! _goes the bell, and she's inside. _Breathe in. Breathe out. _The store is the same as it was a week ago, well lit, merchandise gleaming, and that door at the back, managing to look inconspicuous even though it exudes a bit of the 'which one doesn't go with the others' vibe. Claire is attempting to put it out of her mind, because disrespecting the privacy of one 'night in shining armor' might not be the best idea. So she'll wait, look around.

Something is niggling at the back of her mind, something she should be remembering but can't seem to quite grasp–_something... _She's bending over to get a better look at one of the more expensive models of watches, and the door at the back clicks open.

Just as she's turning around, she hears him say–

"Welcome back, Miss Bennet."

Freezing up, deer in the headlights moment, _so that's what I forgot–_

Breath in. Breath out.

* * *

_Apologies, apologies, terribly sorry for the (two month?) delay. I was lazy. And then I went to Disney World and 'accidentally' left my laptop at home. And now, I will be attempting to write a 50,000+ word novel in 30 days for NaNoWriMa, so that'll be another full month without updates. I'm very sorry. I'll try and get as many chapters out as I can before the end of the week._

_Forgive me, someday?_

_WildeJunkie96_


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